Lagos and the Rising Cock...

I don't have much time to update but I know that when I get back from Jolly Old England next week, Lagos will have seemed like a blur (as does everything else so far, my GOD!) so I thought I better at least write something and maybe I'll get some pictures up next week.

So, Renee and I got out of class on Friday at 2:50pm and the bus was leaving at 4:15 and we thought we'd have more than enough time to make it to the bus station from school. We thought wrong. I made it, after having walked through all of downtown and managing to get a cab when I was only two blocks from the station. Renee, on the other hand, ran the whole thing with an 8 foot surfboard and managed to pound on the side of the bus as it was pulling out across the bridge to leave down and threw herself and her stuff onto the bus. Everyone was cheering, I was almost in tears and everything about our trip from there after went down in dramatic fashion.

We arrived at the Rising Cock Hostel (that in and of itself is a whole other story) around 10pm and the Aussies who were there were celebrating their last night and we got dragged (yeah right!) into helping them. We arrived back to the Cock at 4am and our friend Jaci was meeting us at the hostel at 10am because the previous night's bus had been full.

We spent the morning and afternoon on the beach and I nursed an incredible hangover and ended up barfing in a garbage can. Hence why I definitely tamed it down the next night. The next night was about the same only Renee and Jaci were the ones who out performed me. Anyways, Sunday we again went to the beach and we were supposed to leave on the bus back at 3:3opm, read: Supposed to. We got to the bus station, just in time yet again, only to find that we were supposed to confirm our tickets a day in advance (no one mentioned this) and that we were SOL. The next bus was leaving at 5:30am, did we want it? HECK YES, because we couldn't stand another night of drunken Aussies...

So, instead we spent the evening on a 2 hour sail boat cruise to the caves in and around the Lagos coast. We made dinner on the boat and then once we got back tried to tackle the issue of where to stay until 5:30am. The caves and the scenery, I should just mention, are magnificent. However, I think Lisbon is a better plan as Lagos is simply an English/Aussie/German haven and minimal culture was observed there.

We were going to stay on the beach but realized that we shared it with some huge cockroaches and that we would probably get robbed (plus it was really cold at night). We crashed at a restaurant for an hour after eating there but they soon told us to move on. We went back to the hostel and asked to sleep on the couches, as we were not going to pay for a night that we weren't going to have full use of (especially at that place, people were just getting home when we were leaving for the bus).

Anyways, we got the bus at 5:30 and just made it back intime for my noon class. I was gross, sandcovered and in need of some major sleep but the trip was so worth it. We had a blast and I can honestly say that coming to this continent has been the best decision I've made so far.

I hope you are all extremely jealous and a huge thank you to my parents for helping make this a reality for me!

A visit to the Real Alcazar...

Yet again, another week has flown by. This time the weekend was capped off with a trip to Lagos, Portugal to get some much needed rest and relaxation. I don't know that we got a whole tonne of either but we sure had a blast. I will post pictures of Portugal soon but for now lets talk about one of Sevilla's must-see sights: The Real Alcazar.

Here's a brief explanation, Wikipedia style:
"The Alcázar of Seville (Spanish "Alcázares Reales de Sevilla" or "Royal Alcazars of Seville") is a royal palace in Seville, Spain. Originally a Moorish fort, the Alcázar (from the Arabic القصر, al-qasr, meaning "palace") has been expanded several times. The Almohades were the first to build a palace, called Al-Muwarak, on the site. Most of the modern Alcázar was built over Moorish ruins for King Pedro of Castile (also known as Pedro the Cruel) with construction beginning in 1364. Pedro used Moorish workers to build his palace giving it a distinctly Islamic design. The palace is one of the best remaining examples of mudéjar architecture, a style under Christian rule in Spain but using Islamic architectural influence. Subsequent monarchs have added their own additions to the Alcázar. Charles V's addition of gothic elements contrasts with the dominant Islamic style."

**Note that it is also an UNESCO World Heritage Site.**

I know I shouldn't do the ol' cut and paste but I'm tired and I wanted to sum in up relatively easily. The Real Alcazar contains many different parts, many contain slow trickly fountains (traditional muslim structures) which even when packed with tourists, the serenity still flows. The huge gardens snuck neatly behind high walls right in the downtown core speaks to many of Seville's greatest treasures who are tucked behind heavy canopies of palm/orange/lime or beauginvelia.

The Real Alcazar is a must see while in Seville. It costs 7 euro to get in (unless you wheel and deal for the student rate, which then means sometimes free) but it is well worth it. The brilliantly coloured tapestries and mosaics remind why Spain often does it best.

I just can't believe that I'm really here and that I'm so lucky to have the opportunity to do this. I know I will look back and believe that this was one of the greatest decisions of my life, but I feel like I already know that.

change is as inevitable as breathing...

Today is the 17th, one full week since I last posted. I can't wait until I've been here long enough that I stop counting the days or the weeks and just enjoy it. Everyone knows about the ol' biological clock but no one ever mentioned the traveler's clock; the one where every second that slips by is a moment where you could be savouring the vast array of nations now at my back door. Alas, where is that happy medium between home and away...

"Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the shadow
Life is very long" (TS Eliot).

Anyway, I am settling in pretty well here in Sevilla. I must admit that I've struck gold in regards to several things here including my chosen city (which is spectacular once you learn to tame the beast that is Seville public transit) and my chosen digs (central, low-key, no nagging host families, etc.).

Yesterday we got bicycles and rode around the city. Biking is strange in that you don't realize that you're hot and sweaty and Oh-my-God it's 35 degrees and UV index 8 until you stop for a breather. I didn't learn to properly (read: without training wheels) ride a bike until I was 14 years old. I'm always a little nervous when I get on one because I feel like I'm at a disadvantage because I learned so late, however once I'm on one I feel like the 11 year old who is a fervent bike rider (and has been since she was 8) and I'm in heaven. This has led me to become a Sevici program participant. The long and the short of it is that you join for 10 euro a year and you get to ride these specific bikes that have something like 150 locations around the city and when you're done you drop it off at any one and you're done. No hassle. No bike maintenance. No storage. Sounds like a good idea and this afternoon I'm officially going to have purchased my membership.

Anyways, school is a trip but I'll leave that for another time. So too will I for my next trip, to London, at the end of the month. I'm also looking into Christmas plans for the parents but I'm getting far too far ahead of myself. Right now I have to grab the bus out to the urban ghetto that ate our school and do translations for the better part of the early afternoon.

No one also mentioned that I would want to travel more than school on this school abroad program. Tisk tisk.

my new digs: school style...

Today was the first day of school, as it were. After two buses and un monton (mountain) of unruly humanity that I encountered en route (mostly unruly Americans boasting about how they plan to get shitfaced every night and rock out while they're here living with eachother in flats because homestays were for sissies), through the urban ghettos on the outskirts of Sevilla, I arrived at school. The commute is for sure an hour. No sense in complaining but boy is the traffic here a bitch.

And so, I arrive in a herd (collective noun for arrogant Americans, duly noted) of anglo-pigs who all seemingly know one another, except pour moi who is reading a Spanish daily paper in hopes of blending in. They are met by a guide of some kind who is quick to point out that I am not part of their group and that his tour is private. I thank him for his courtesy (in Spanish) and ask him what/where am I supposed to go and at what time is the placement exam. No one seems to know. I feel no sense of urgency and simply shrug my shoulders (really, I'm not making this up). Having had an infinite number of profs no-show while in Cuauhtemoc, I think to myself, perhaps we should be thankful that at least there was no transit strike, a la London, in progress. A strange little American finds me in a mad panic as she is in the same state as I and we might be missing the exam and then we may get kicked out of school and then kicked out of the country and coincidentally this would lead to her, and for some reason also my, demise. She seemed further disconcerted by my lack of concern as I was more impressed that the sun was shining and there was a breeze, for once.

Eventually we found out our place, I found the rest from my group (with whom I seem to get on splendidly) and the exam was a joke. Surely five years of Spanish training has garnered me more than being able to explain how much a car would hypothetically cost during the Franco era, should one have been allowed the privilege to buy said car. Needless to say, I was one of the first ones done and the rest was history.

I came back into town with two of the girls from our group (we are six in total) to use internet, go pee, see downtown and gorge on tapas (as one must do while in Spain). They were impressed with my digs, as both are living with families and I was reassured that my loneliness was not unique.

I've just met the last of my house mates, a truly strange batch we are, and I'm feeling rather at home, of all places. I know culture shock is a bitch and it comes in waves, but it really is much easier this time than last and we girls are already planning our first trips.

How's that for not having had a tour guide? And why do Americans need a guide? Don't they know everything anyway?

My new digs...

Up the marble staircase to the first floor is #35- 1B... My new digs.

Hello all and welcome to my latest interneting attempt to keep you all posted about my Spanish goings on. I'm not going to lie, today I slept most of the day and when looking for reasons to get out of the 30 degrees + loft bed that you have to climb to get into, I could find only that I was extremely hungry, but alas the kitchen was not stocked. Tapas? Si, senor! (Paella was my first choice since I could say it AND knew what it was.)

Around 3pm I ventured out into the city which was virtually dead, due to the heat as I already mentioned. I've unpacked, purchased a bus pass and plotted my route to school and gotten the essential groceries. Now I'm attempting to post some photos of my digs. Please be patient with me. As far as the journey over here, no lost luggage, decent food, ample medication to sleep on the plane, and after all that Tomas (my new landlord) was there in fine form to pick me up. Not bad and all in a day's work.

The photos have captions that may be too small to read (click on the image for a bigger one). I haven't figure this blog thing out but do your best to get your bearings. And always remember, when in Spain, heavy on the "th" in Gracias. That's right, there is no "th" but you MUST PRONOUNCE IT ANYWAY!